


let's pretend I'm holding your hand

by primetime



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-28
Updated: 2012-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-31 21:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/348519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primetime/pseuds/primetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles. He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love. Regency AU."</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's pretend I'm holding your hand

**Author's Note:**

> Filling a kinkmeme prompt by an anon, here: http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/7736.html?thread=14324280#t14324280.

After the door slammed shut with a heavy thud behind Sebastian, Erik wouldn’t look up at him. Wouldn’t meet Charles’s eyes – wouldn’t even turn around to look at him. Just stared down at the floor, one hand resting on the closed door to hold himself up.

Charles cleared his throat, feeling pathetic and bare and vulnerable in his thin robe. They’re not even sure it’s Sebastian’s problem – it might be Charles, the reason they can’t conceive. Sebastian must be infuriated if he’s resorting to this. He can’t imagine Erik’s consented to this – he’d seen Sebastian lean over to Erik at dinner for a moment, but Charles hadn’t been able to hear what he’d said over the raucous din of the court. Charles had closed his eyes, mastered the trembling in his hands, and kept sawing at his dry steak. 

But when Sebastian had shown up in Charles’s rooms, as he’d done most nights for the last few months – increasingly stinking drunk and bitter – Erik had been hovering behind him, looking anywhere but at Charles. 

Charles had risen from the seat by the window, wishing he’d had something more to cover himself than the thin robe Sebastian usually rucked up within moments, but he hadn’t even gotten a word out before Sebastian had shoved him onto the bed, Charles landing awkwardly on the side, catching himself on his hands. 

“Here,” Sebastian had said to Erik. “If he won’t get by me, you have a go.” He’d sneered down at Charles. “He’s always had a soft spot for you, anyways – maybe he’ll spread his legs with a little more enthusiasm.” 

“Your Majesty-“ Erik had started, his voice barely held together, and Sebastian had cut him off with a dismissive noise. 

“Hold him down if he complains,” Sebastian had instructed, already leaving. “You are a knight of my court. I presume you know what to do with a bitch in heat.” 

Charles’s hands had fisted in the covers, and he’d refused to look up, his hair covering his eyes, as Shaw had stormed out. 

But now Erik wouldn’t look at him, and the humiliation tightened Charles’s throat, so that he couldn’t get anything out. Charles took a deep breath, then another, then stood, letting his shoulders sink back, trying to remember that he was the King’s Consort now and he’d been a duke before that. 

“Erik,” he said, and Erik turned, finally, his hands going awkwardly to his waist and the hilt of his sword. He met Charles’s eyes, and the depth of feeling in them made Charles’s stomach sink.

He had to do this; Sebastian would check, Charles knew. They were both trapped in this. 

“I’m sorry, my friend,” he said, and Erik’s shoulders sank as he lunged forward in what seemed like an involuntary step.

“No!” Erik said, his hand going out to grip Charles’s elbow. “No, Charles, I’m sorry – I’m so sorry-“

Charles shushed him, trying to smile up at Erik’s dear, miserable face.

He stepped into Erik’s body, and Erik let out a broken breath and clutched him close, a hand tight on the back of Charles’s neck, his face buried into Charles’s hair. Charles could feel the movement of his breaths, the harsh inhale and exhale of his stomach, taut with tension.

Charles pulled back after long moments, blinking away how good it felt to have Erik against him, the misery of knowing that they were only in this room at Sebastian’s behest and with his permission.

Erik tucked a hand against his face, caressed him with a shaking thumb, searching for something in his face – Charles didn’t know what, but Erik must have been satisfied, because he tipped Charles’s face up and dove in for a kiss, hard and increasingly desperate with every second that passed.

Charles kissed him back, tangling his hands in the soft hair at the nape of Erik’s neck, hardening in moments at the feel of Erik’s body against his, lips to shoulders to cocks, through Charles’s robe and Erik’s trousers.

Erik broke away for a second, panted hard, then ducked back into bite at Charles’s jawline, down his neck, leaving a trail of chills – both from the cold air on the dampened skin, and the intoxicating feeling of finally – god, pathetically, finally – breaking the careful six inches of space he and Erik had always kept apart, trying to ignore and pass off the tension between them under the watchful eyes of Sebastian and his cloyingly subservient courtiers. 

“Erik,” Charles let out, three years of misery speaking, and something broke in Erik. He shoved Charles back onto the mattress, Charles bouncing once with the force, before climbing over him, reaching out to shove Charles’s robe open with desperate hands, fumbling to get it as far apart as possible without separating long enough to take it entirely off. 

Charles swallowed as Erik paused and took him in, his eyes moving quickly but lingering – Charles’s chest, his hipbone, the dip of a thigh, the insistent hardness of his cock – and Charles could practically see the battle in Erik – the desire to explore every inch of skin warring with the fear that Sebastian would return and their one chance would shatter abruptly. 

Erik reached out – stopped himself, meeting Charles’s eyes with hesitation, and Charles tried not to tear up at the distress mixed with desperate want in Erik’s look. It should have been them – if only Erik had moved a little faster once he and Sebastian had returned from the war, been less shy about seeking Charles out at meals and in the hallways of the court for stilted, playful conversation, proposed before Sebastian had ever followed Erik’s gaze and, with a smirk, decided to take Charles for himself. 

Charles couldn’t think about it – couldn’t watch Erik think about it – couldn’t let all the lost possibilities overwhelm them – and Erik, seeing it in his eyes, bent down and swiped rough and hard at the tip of Charles’s cock with his tongue, licked away the precome with one firm stroke, and Charles’s back arched as he gasped out a moan. Erik planted a gloved hand on his hipbone, pinning him, and sucked him down, as Charles tried to grasp at any shreds of control he had left, tried to overcome the waves of sensation mixing with the unbearable thrill of knowing that it was finally _Erik_ between his legs, Erik doing this to him.

Erik sucked him with the inexperienced but controlled movement of the soldier he was, his eyes down, focusing on the task at hand with a devotion and singlemindedness that Charles thought he couldn’t handle – until Erik’s eyes rose with his mouth still on Charles’s cock and Charles had to immediately shift his weight to one hand and shove the other down to grip himself tightly at the base of his cock, because he couldn’t – he couldn’t watch Erik look at him like that and not have his orgasm pulled directly out of him, and he couldn’t come yet, he _couldn’t._

Erik pulled off; when he touched at the damp smears on his lips automatically, it hit Charles right in the gut, and he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, pulled himself together. When he opened his eyes again, Erik was staring at him, looking nervous, and Charles kissed him, trying not to think about how good it felt, the heat and pressure of Erik’s body over him, the way mouthing over Erik’s stubble made his heart twist. He tried not to think of how cold his skin would feel when Erik had to leave. 

“Please, Erik,” Charles said, reaching for the buttons on Erik’s shirt, and Erik nodded and yanked himself to his feet, stripping down with quick, economical movements, unbuckling his scabbard and dropping his clothes to the floor. When he was bare, Charles bit his lip at the sight of him, all long and lean and scarred, but Erik leaned in and took his mouth again, softer, gentler, laving at where Charles had bitten himself.

Erik crawled onto him, laid down on him, and it felt too good, too miserable to know that this should have been every night, should have been easy with long familiarity, Erik his husband, with every right to each other’s bodies. Instead, Charles ran restless hands over the firm line of his back, the stubble on his face, the soft spot behind his ear, the tiny dip at his hips, trying to catalogue and sort and learn and remember.

They kissed for long moments, rocking against each other’s cocks, nudging soft wet spots of precome onto each other’s bellies, until Erik reached down and yanked him up farther onto the bed, getting him secure and centered. He propped himself up on one forearm, staring down into Charles’s eyes as Charles tilted his hips up and let Erik touch between his legs, feel the wetness where Charles had prepared himself, resigned for another night of Sebastian shoving his face into the mattress as he pumped another load of useless semen into Charles.

Erik’s mouth dropped open, just barely, looking thunderblown in his own understated way when he slipped two fingers right into him, Charles’s hips already arching up against him in short desperate movements. He stayed there for what felt like forever, not so much opening Charles up as just feeling at him, the slick trembling muscle of his insides.

“Erik, please,” said Charles, breaking in between the sounds of their gasps, unable to stop from rocking back down firmly onto Erik’s fingers. Erik’s eyes shot up from where he’d been watching the movements of his own hand, and Charles smiled up at him tremulously. “Erik, we can’t have – but we can have this, please, Erik, fuck me-“

“Yes,” Erik snarled, reached down to yank Charles’s legs up around his waist, gripped his cock and guided himself in, his hips already moving, driving his cock into Charles with frantic, miserable need. 

Charles arched his head back, his mouth opening, but Erik stopped moving with anxious jolts and gripped Charles’s chin, forcing his face down. 

“No,” he bit out, only starting to rock against Charles again once Charles was looking up at him. He held Charles’s face there, not kissing him, Erik’s face twisting up at the sensation but refusing to give up eye contact. Charles, trying to ignore the deep and juddering sensation of Erik’s cock in him, the tightness of his chest as he struggled to catch his breath, the tears pricking up behind his eyes, turned as best he could to mouth kisses at Erik’s palm. Erik’s shoulders softened and he lengthened his thrusts, returning his palms to the soft and vulnerable undersides of Charles’s knees, gaining a better angle at which to fuck him.

The room fell silent for a moment, and Charles listened to the slick sounds of Erik’s cock moving in him and the ticking of the clock, watching Erik as he stared off to the side, his mood turning sour despite the breathless joy of the sensation.

“Does he feel like this?” Erik said, his mouth twisting, and Charles ignored the desperate need to stroke his cock to put a hand on Erik’s face, to turn him back. 

“Erik,” he said, because they both already knew the answer, knew that their misery was equal and shared.

Erik’s thrusts grew even more desperate, his rhythm speeding up and becoming more erratic at the same time, and Charles tightened his thighs against Erik’s waist, stroked the tensed muscle where Erik’s neck joined with his shoulders, moving back against him. 

“He won’t have this,” Charles said. 

Erik’s eyes shot to him.

“Come in me,” Charles said. “Come in me and you’ll always have this.” 

Erik’s mouth trembled, then tightened, and then he gasped and came, his neck arching, one fisted hand releasing Charles’s knee and dropping to the mattress to prop himself up, and Charles reached down to feel Erik’s cock in him through those last thrusts, the new wetness slicking his fingers and Erik’s cock at once, and though Erik made some movement to fall to Charles’s side, Charles twisted and nudged so that Erik collapsed onto him with his full body weight, his cock pulling out some but not entirely, 

Erik’s face was so close to his, and Charles was so needy, still – he didn’t want to disturb the momentary slack peace in Erik’s face, but every breath Erik took was a tiny movement against Charles’s cock, and he couldn’t hold in the gasps that turned into whimpers once he let them out. Erik’s eyes blinked open, once, twice, and then he pulled himself out entirely, lifted up just enough to get a hand between them – but Charles gripped Erik’s shoulder tight, nails digging in, when Erik bypassed his cock entirely, going further to press unsteady fingers against Charles’s hole, to feel at his own come in Charles. 

Erik panted into Charles’s ear as they both watched Erik rub his hand in the come, slimy strands connecting between his fingers, new anxious energy supplanting the last remnants of exertion. 

Erik gritted his teeth. “I’ll know,” he whispered, harsh and directly into Charles’s ear, bringing his hand up to wrap around Charles’s cock, stroking Charles off with his own semen, and Charles shook and gave up soft tiny grunts as Erik twisted his hand around the head of Charles’s cock, neglected for too long, and finally came all over himself, Erik’s hand, Erik’s belly. He tried to come down quick, fast enough to comfort Erik, but the pleasure was still sparking in him. 

“I’ll know,” Erik snarled, insistent, rising up. “He can’t make me forget.”

Charles let a moment pass, let the tension sink down, then reached up to kiss Erik, still breathless from orgasm.

“Me too,” Charles said, and Erik collapsed next to him, their heads curling together. “I’ll know too, Erik. Always. Always,” he repeated, as he reached out to touch Erik’s face and Erik caught his hand, kissing at his fingertips. 

“Charles,” said Erik, his eyes wet, his fingers of their intertwined hands brushing against Charles’s cheek, and Charles ducked his gaze away from Erik’s eyes, stared at Erik’s stupid gorgeous strong chin, the curve of his neck, and tried to hold everything back. 

“Don’t-“ Charles said, not wanting to put it out in the open where they couldn’t pretend anymore, where they’d have to acknowledge it, and he was saved and shattered at the same time, bit down on a noise when the door slammed open.

It hit the wall when Sebastian pushed it open – certainly drunk, if his unsteadiness was any indication, and Charles felt his throat and chest catch when Erik rolled off him, Erik’s movements turning immediately methodical and cold. Charles sucked in a tiny breath, shivering at the chilly air against his skin, but made no movements to conceal himself. Sebastian would object, Charles knew, and he didn’t want Erik to see Sebastian hit him – didn’t trust Erik not to lose it, not after this. 

“Get out,” Sebastian said, not looking at Erik, and Charles stared up at the canopy and tried to still the muscles trembling in his face, to keep it in, contain it, lock it down, as he watched Erik picked up his clothes, bow deeply to his king, and exit swiftly to the hallway, to get dressed in the corridor, try to put himself together, salvage his dignity in front of any guards Sebastian may have left out there. 

“Turn over,” Sebastian said, smacking at his thigh, and Charles did, relieved and sick at the ability to hide his face in the mattress. Sebastian prodded at him, spread his legs, felt at his hole, wet and dripping with Erik’s come, then slapped Charles’s ass.

“Well done,” Sebastian said. “Not that I imagine you even notice who’s plowing you, so long as you have a cock in you. Isn’t that right, my consort?”

“Yes, my Lord,” said Charles, and put his hands over his face underneath him as Sebastian left, laughing.

But when he moved, too cold to remain above the covers any longer, he felt Erik’s come trickle down his leg, and – despite his best efforts - paused, closed his eyes, and smiled around his sore and bitten lips.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ritual Self-Torture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/369918) by [TurtleTotem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem)




End file.
